“Yeah, they're all pretty fucking great.” I said it with enough pride that it probably sounded ridiculous, but I didn't care. “They've been through a lot of shit, but they're still standing. That's what matters.”
“What about you?” Rook asked. “You standing okay?”
I had to look away from him before I answered. “Most days. Some days are harder than others, but I'm managing.”
“You shouldn't have to just manage, Soren.”
“Yeah, well. That's life. Not everyone gets the clean path forward. Some of us just do the best we can with what we've got.”
We passed a coffee shack that was somehow still open despite the cold, and Rook stopped without asking if I wanted anything.
“Two coffees,” he told the teenager working the window. “Black for me, and—” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“Same,” I said, because I wasn't picky about coffee as long as it was hot.
He paid before I could even reach for my wallet, and when I tried to argue he just handed me the cup and said, “Let me buy you coffee, Soren. It's not a big deal.”
Except it felt like a big deal. But I took the coffee anyway because arguing would've made it weird, and we kept walking.
The park opened up into a wider field where a handful of dogs were running loose, chasing tennis balls and each other with the kind of chaotic joy that only dogs could manage. A golden retriever immediately zeroed in on Rook like it had found its long-lost soulmate, bounding over with its tail wagging hard enough to create a small windstorm.
“Hey, buddy,” Rook said, crouching down to let the dog assault him with affection. “You're friendly, huh?”
The dog's owner jogged over, apologizing for the invasion, but Rook just laughed and said it was fine. He spent the next five minutes getting thoroughly loved on by a dog that clearly had no concept of personal space, and I watched him the entire time because apparently I was a masochist who enjoyed torturing himself.
A smaller dog, some kind of terrier mix, decided I looked interesting and started circling my legs like it was trying to herd me toward an invisible pen. I crouched down to pet it, and it immediately tried to climb into my lap despite being covered in mud.
“You're a mess,” I told it, but I was grinning anyway because the dog's enthusiasm was impossible to resist.
“Looks like you made a friend,” Rook said, standing up and brushing dog hair off his jeans.
“Looks like we both did.”
We eventually extracted ourselves from the dogs and kept walking, following the path around the edge of a pond where a group of ducks was loitering like they owned the place. Theylooked peaceful enough from a distance, just floating around and doing normal duck things.
That should have been my first warning.
“They're kind of cute,” I said, stopping near the edge to watch them.
“Yeah,” Rook agreed, and he sounded genuinely charmed by them. “Harmless.”
One of the ducks looked directly at me, and I swear to god I saw murder in its beady little eyes.
“Rook,” I said slowly. “I don't think these ducks are harmless.”
“They're ducks, Soren. What are they going to do?”
The duck I'd made eye contact with started swimming toward us with a sense of purpose that sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Two more ducks joined it, and within seconds there was a small flotilla heading straight for the shore where we were standing.
“We should go,” I said.
“They're just coming to see if we have food.”
“We don't have food, which means they're coming tobeviolent.”
The first duck made it to shore and waddled toward us with an aggression that should not have been physically possible for a waterfowl. Rook laughed like this was charming instead of the beginning of a horror movie, and then the duck lunged.
“Holy shit!” Rook jumped back, and the duck followed him like a tiny feathered assassin. “Okay, yeah, you were right. These ducks are assholes.”
